Author: jomccoy

Waiting for death is a strange thing. When you know someone is going to pass; Death is coming; so you just know. But it hasn’t hit you … yet. You stay separated; almost disjointed from the shadowed life. Decisions are made to try and restore life. And we wait while dialysis is started and a heart attack ensues and then death; then revival… just barely alive.

And then decisions have to be made about what to do to continue the Life; try something; anything; the question of continued life support. And the doctors give you time. They give you time to think and grieve, to come to terms with the Life ending. Even when the Life chose to drink Itself to this point of no return. Even if the Life chose to separate Itself from everyone who loves and cares for the Life.

And we who are waiting, wait. Not sure if there was something else we could have done. Maybe we should have gone after and insisted on contact? Maybe we should have forced phone calls and texts and visits? Could we have saved the Life or would we have driven It further away?

And I am thankful; thankful for a God who is right here in all of this. And I wonder if this Life who is leaving this earth, knows that Jesus-brother was standing right there with the Life as he drank. Did this Life know that Jesus-brother loved the Life so much that He stood right there and watched? Watched His brother-son, drink himself into oblivion?

Does the Life know that right now Jesus-brother is in the room with him? Does the life know that Holy Spirit-comforter resides in him, never left; even when the Life tried to push It out? Does the Life know that Daddy-God is weeping for the pain and suffering this Life’s body went through? That Daddy-God is weeping for the Life’s decisions to turn away from the Daddy-God’s promised journey for him? Does the Life know that Daddy-God and Jesus-brother and Holy Spirit-Comforter are right here. Waiting for their son-brother to come home?

Waiting for death. How long will it take? This waiting.

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The sign going into the Wellness Center at Two Rivers YMCA in Moline.

I pulled myself out of bed this morning and decided to go to the YMCA to work out. Actually all I do right now for my work out is walk for 30 minutes. Today it wasn’t as hard to convince myself to make this effort. Usually I argue with myself for 15 minutes to 1/2 an hour. If I argue long enough with myself I’ll sit on the couch (in my work out clothes) in my living room reading email, then Facebook and then the tv goes on and that’s it. But not this morning. Maybe it’s because yesterday morning my son wanted to work out as well. This means we have to push the warm covers away and move through the dark cold 5:30 morning. I got up because he wanted to go. But this morning I came on my own. In fact the message in my head was, “It will feel great. You will feel better all day long.” This is a positive message. One I don’t have to fight. One I don’t have to argue against.

During my work out yesterday, I found myself crying during my workout. I listened to a song expressing the losing of the old man and becoming a new person through Jesus. Right after that song was Redeemed!! I was crying. I felt like God was trying to get through my sick messages. He was trying to tell me He loved me. I mean, come on, I have been eating my way through stress and in many cases snubbing my nose at God while I was eating. I mean really. The last few years all I did was fight. It was a fight at work to do the right thing for my students, it was a fight at home to do my part in all that is a family life, it was a fight to go to church and really worship God. When I say fight, I mean I had to convince myself to do some of the simplest tasks throughout my day. So eating was an easy way to express my anger at life, at God. So during this workout yesterday I began to cry. Because ultimately, I was never alone during my fighting, my surviving. God was right there with me in the trenches. Even when I snubbed Him.

Since I resigned my teaching position and am following the call to be a Deacon, so many areas of my life have improved. I am by far much much happier. I have less stress. I am experiencing God and life and relationships in a deeper more positive way. But becoming healthier is far harder. Quite frankly I’ve given up hope of ever changing my health status. Shit, I’ve been on this yo-yo ride since I was 15. I’m 50! How is this going to change!! Yesterday during my crying workout, God’s grace and mercy covered me. Reassured me that I was a new person in Jesus.

But then later that day I found myself a little angry with God. I’ve been helping to facilitate the Alpha course at our church. And there is a point in the video of a man who talked about accepting Jesus as his Lord and Savior. All of his addictions left him. He was addicted to drinking and cocaine. And I was like, “What about me? Haven’t I been faithful!!” See, I realize I am addicted to food, to eating. I’ve been reading the book 10-Day Detox Diet by Mark Hyman and other articles about the brain and food addiction. So I get what’s happening. And there is this part of me that was relieved after reading Hyman’s book. I mean I had believed for so long that I just didn’t have enough will power to lose the VERY excessive weight I was carrying. And this book explained all of the science and addictive nature of foods, especially processed foods, on the brain. And I was like yeah, this is me. I mean, I will be thinking about what I will be eating for lunch and I haven’t even finished eating breakfast. And then throughout the day thoughts of eating and food come into my mind. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing. That’s the very nature of addiction.

So I was a little pissed with God! If He has the power to take away addictions why doesn’t He take away mine?!! I even prayed about it for Heaven’s sake. I mean come on! So then I chalked it up to one of those thorns in my side things. One of those things I just have to trudge through in life. Maybe it’s that will help me continue to seek out God.

And then this morning happened. I didn’t realize what changed until writing this blog. My thoughts this morning were changed, “It will feel great. You will feel better all day long.” I did not have to fight myself this morning. This morning my walk on the tread mill was different. Jordan Feleliz’s song, The River began to play. Today instead of crying I was rejoicing as I praised God listening to the lyrics. When I say praised, I mean my hands were out and open, my head was bowed or looking up and I was singing to my God. (No, I did not sing out loud. At least I don’t think anyone could hear me.) The living water was washing over me, and I was coming alive. I was washed by the water in amazing grace.

Now I truly am a sceptic when it comes to eating and getting to a healthy weight. I know myself and my sinful nature all to well. I will take the positive messages back. Those are so much closer to my true nature. I am a naturally positive person. Maybe that’s the miracle. Maybe it’s another path for me to explore with God. Maybe this old dog can learn new tricks. God is capable of anything. I’ll talk to Him about my scepticism, and I’ll hold onto His promises. Maybe He will perform a miracle. Maybe next year I’ll be the right weight and healthier then I’ve ever been. For right now, I’m praying Psalm 30: 1-5, 11-12;

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Why am I dreaming about zombies and in color? I am not a fan of horror and that includes brain eating zombies. Once I woke up I could not shake this strange dream from my mind.

I find myself out walking in a wooded area. It is a rainy fall day that makes you think winter will be coming soon. The trees have lost most of their leaves, and the leaves that are left are brown; but there is still green grass on the muddied ground. It is evident it has rained and will rain again. It’s hard to tell the time of day because the clouds are thick and grey. I am following a set of truck tracks. And I see this person moving towards me. It’s a zombie.

From somewhere behind me yet in my head I hear, “You have to kill the zombie”. I have nothing around me to do this. No gun, no knife, nothing. I’m not scared at all. There’s just this feeling of needing to kill this thing.

And since this is a dream and not done in any real story telling sequence, the zombie is on the ground and I am trying to drive this stick into it’s heart. As I’m trying to kill this thing, it turns and looks at me and I recognize it. It’s me, or a part of me. And once I recognize it’s me, the guy who had told me to kill it was now under the zombie. And of course he has been bitten. And now I have to kill both. I just need to jam this stick through the heart of the first zombie.

What the heck does this all mean? What I know about dream interpretation is that the person having the dream has to be the one to interpret it. But I also know that sometimes my brain picks up on cues in the world that I didn’t even know it was absorbing. So I do what I always do when I don’t know something – I google it.

“To see or dream that you are a zombie suggests that you are physically and/or emotionally detached from people and situations that are currently surrounding you. You are feeling out of touch. Alternatively, a zombie means that you are feeling dead inside. You are just going through the motions of daily living.

To dream that you are attacked by zombies indicate that you are feeling overwhelmed by forces beyond your control. You are under tremendous stress in your waking life. Alternatively, the dream represents your fears of being helpless and overpowered.”

When I first read this I was angry. I am no longer detached or lacking purpose, in fact I find I am moving in the opposite direction. I am full of hope and grace and purpose. I am finally beginning to do what I love again. I look forward to going to work and coming home and interacting with my family. I’m not angry or frustrated or exhausted.

But then I realized what the dream was telling me. I was killing that part of me. That part of me that had been dead inside for so long. The part of me that was closed off and unwilling to be open and share feelings, even to myself. I was killing the part of me that would not let me be happy or the part that would not allow me to be sad and cry because I just didn’t have the time or energy. The zombie was who I was, not who I am.

I had lost hope. Not completely, but so much hope was gone that I began to believe the lies that I just could not be the healthy, happy person God intended me to be. In the last year I gained 20 pounds and so much more fat. See, as an adult I have always been overweight, but I could ride 100 miles on my bike or go out and run 2-3 miles with no problem. But last year was so stressful, I was surviving, not living. And somewhere in that year I began to lose hope. So I ate. And I drank Pepsi. And I became heavier and I became so much older. And I did not move my body at all.

Hope has been trying to make its way back into my life. I am reconnecting to God. I am writing and praying more regularly. I am starting to walk again in the early morning. I am passionately pursuing God’s purpose for my life. Those negative nasty thoughts about giving up and not trying to be a healthy person are beginning to leave. I take strength in God’s words, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new. Now all things are of God, who has reconciled Himself through Jesus Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation” (2 Corinthians 5: 17-18; NKJV).

I am a new person in Jesus Christ. The zombie part of me, the part that became dead to living is gone. I am alive in Christ Jesus. I am aware I have the choice to live for Him. Before, when I was surviving, all I was able to do was cry out to God to come and take me away or to get me out of this mess. But that’s not how God works. I had to trust God and be patient in His timing. I had to leave behind my teaching profession. I had to be patient for Him to open doors. He had to be the one to lead me. I was so broken, I was willing to follow.

My last year of teaching created an unhealthy body and mind. My exterior mirrored what happening inside of me. But I am a new person, a new woman now. I have hope. But oooh, how I wish this would mean my body would change into a new body right here and now, but it won’t. And oooh how I wish there would be no issues with eating. But this isn’t how God works. He is not a fairy God mother coming to save me. What He wants is a relationship with me. He wants to be reconciled with me. He wants me. All of me. No matter where I am in my life, He is right there. In the middle of my eating addiction, He is right there. When I break a promise to myself to not eat any candy, He is right there when I down a whole bag of peanut M&Ms. (It’s not the small bag either!!) When I attempt to walk a mile and am struggling, He is right there. He doesn’t condemn me or shame me or put me down. What He does is radical. HE LOVES ME!! All of me.

And this hope I have, this new woman I am becoming is because of this radical love. And what’s even more important is that it’s not just for me. It’s for everyone. It doesn’t matter what you are doing or not doing. It doesn’t matter if you go to church or sit at home watching sports tv. It doesn’t matter if you believe in Christ Jesus or not!! What does matter:

HE LOVES YOU!!

ALL OF YOU!!

AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO

TO ESCAPE

HIS LOVE!!

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I have injured my knee. This has been a long process. Last spring I had the feeling I was going to fall down the stairs at work. My knee felt like it was swelling up and unable to move completely. I decided it was time to go to the doctor when I continued to imagine myself losing my balance and taking out any student who happened to be moving from one class to another.

My doctor sent me for X-rays. Nothing showed up except normal aging. Since nothing was showing up, and I had not been active for a long time, and I was gaining back weight I had lost, I decided to start training for a 5K. I was using the Couch Potato to 5K plan. The idea is to go out for 30 minutes and toggle between walking and running. You do a brisk walk warmup for 5 minutes, stretch, and then job for 1 minute and walk for 2 minutes for a total of 20 minutes and then do a 5 minute cool down. In my head I was telling myself, I can do anything for 1 minute at a time. It was going ok, except my knees were really hurting. So, I backed off and did only half of the plan. They continued to hurt, so I decided I would toggle between walking a very brisk and a slower walk. Still my knees bothered me.

It wasn’t until Sunday bowling when I began to feel twinges on the back of my left knee. I decided to take the week off of exercising. It didn’t seem to matter. By Wednesday I was walking around with a limp and by that evening, my left knee was swollen and incredibly tender. On Thanksgiving Day my knee was swollen, wouldn’t bend, and I was in pain. I was tired.

I felt as though I had aged by 20 years. I had to rely on my husband and son to help me put on my socks and shoes. Getting in and out of the car was an event I began to master with fewer swear punctuating my successes. I was grumpy, agitated and had no patience. How had I arrived at this point? I am an easy-going, light-hearted person. It takes a great deal to throw me off. I try to see the brighter side of life. And here I was, using foul language, being short with my family, and losing patience with people in the stores we went to. This is very unlike me.

A running commentary began to weedle its way into my thoughts. “You have a choice how to treat others.” “Is this how you want to age?” “Stop whining about what you can’t do, and figure out how to do it differently!” Let’s face it, I’m aging. While I am not “old” (46), I am not young either. Injuries take longer to heal. Losing weight takes more effort. Sleep difficulties begin. I am no longer able to do all the things I did 20 years ago. That’s okay. I now get to do things I was to afraid of doing when I was young. I am now at a point in my life where I can fall into God’s idea of my life and not my own. This injury has slowed me down. That’s what I have needed. I have needed to slow down and listen to God because I haven’t spent time with my Father this past year. Not real, meaningful time in the Word and prayer and listening. Life has pushed me and I didn’t push back. I didn’t keep sacred time sacred time. Now, I have no choice but to be slower. In the slowness of getting ready for the day, getting in and out of my car and walking to where I need to be, I have time. I’ll use that time to talk to and listen to my Father. I’ll take the time at night to read and pray and write – my sacred time.

Psalm 37:25-26 I have been young, and now am old; Yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken, Nor his descendants begging bread. He is ever merciful, and lends; And his descendants are blessed.

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This was my sermon for this morning at church. I used an earlier blog, My Anguish with Luke 7:36-50 and Psalm 46:10-11and created this message. I hope it inspires you and you enjoy it.

When I first started attending this church I was searching. I came and I sat on this side, over here. It was a good seat. I can remember watching the children’s moment and I would begin to pray to God that I would have children, lots of them. There were days I ached to be a mother. I wasn’t more than 20, and I really didn’t know what being a mother meant. I would soon find out. See, I was dating a really great guy. I knew him from junior high school. We were good friends. Between high school and me going to college, he had married, went into the Army, had two great kids and came back home divorced. We started dating.

Do you remember the story read from scripture? This woman was in Simon’s house. She was not a reputable woman. She was a sinner!! Not just any sinner either. She was a woman about town. And here she was in Simon’s house. Scripture says she was standing at Jesus’ feet behind Him. Have you ever wondered how that could be? I was watching a video from Adam Hamilton and he explained it/showed it. So I want to show you. See, they were sitting on the floor in a lounging position with their feet to one side and one arm holding the upper body. Jesus was sitting in such a position that she could be standing behind Him and at His feet.

At the feet of Jesus from spindleworks.com

I want you to envision this. She was kissing His feet. They didn’t have socks and shoes. People were either barefoot or wore sandels. Can you imagine what shame, what guilt this woman must have felt in order to enter the presence of these men, of Jesus, and cry over His feet. In order for her hair to brush His feet, she had to be low to the ground. Yet there she was.

It was customary for a host to provide water for a guest to wash their feet. Simon had not provided that water. This woman did, her tears. The towel she provided was her hair.

Here was this woman coming into Simon’s house, crying over Jesus, washing His feet with her tears and wiping them dry with her hair. She anoints His feet with oil. Throughout this she is kissing His feet. She doesn’t say a word. she comes into this room full of men and says nothing. She cries at His feet, kissing them and pouring oil on them. Whatever burden she was carrying, whether it was guilt, depression, loss, whatever it was put her on her knees. She had to be desperate because at any time she could be kicked out. She said nothing because what she was carrying inside her was so heavy.

But what is even more profound, is Jesus did not speak to her. He did not acknowledge her. He knew where she was but, He knew her pain to be so great, her feelings of shame and guilt to be so great that she could not speak.

Have you ever been so ashamed, in so much pain, so filled with guilt that you wanted to be alone and be comforted at the same time? Has life bent you down low? That’s how life is sometimes. Sometimes all we want to do is hide ourselves and cry at the feet of Jesus kissing His feet because it’s our last stop our last hope.

I have. I have been this woman.

I stood there in the dark silence of the chapel with the stain glass face of Christ looking in at the pews. His hole pierced hands showing an anguish I felt. No one was here, not in this space or time, yet sounds of a movie floated above me from the back wall. I did not approach God straight on, I walked down the side aisle, as far away from His face, my head down with my hair falling around my face – hiding my shame.

“Why? Why me God? What did I do that is so different then everyone else? What did I do that was so wrong?” It was not a whisper but a cry that came welling up from my soul. “How can you do this to me? This is not supposed to happen to me! I am a good girl. I do not want this baby. I cannot be pregnant. Why me? I didn’t do anything different than anyone else. Take this cup from me!”

There was no answer. The stillness crept into my porous soul, which I was trying to cement shut. I raged at God. I shook my fist into the air, crying out to the God who would not speak. The stained glass Jesus said nothing, but His hole pierced hands spoke to my anguish. The only sounds were those of my soul feeling betrayed. My shame oozed into the very recesses of my heart and the guilt overcame me. I found myself prostrate in front of the alter with stain glass Jesus standing over me. His expression never changed. His anguish bleed into my mind, reminding me of His humanness.

“Pass this cup from me Lord, if it is Your will. I cannot do this alone. I am so sorry for my sin,” rippled repeatedly off of my tongue. Time was warped. I was there for minutes, hours, a life time. I pulled myself off the rough carpeted floor. I was wishing, hoping, someone would walk in and offer that act of humanness that God could not give. No one came.

Slowly as I stood there, I felt I was not alone. I turned around and looked into the darkness carefully, yet I couldn’t find anyone. The very air changed. A calmness washed over me. I was surrounded by angels. I could not see them but the sense of them was so palpable I could breathe it into my soul. “Hush. Shhh daughter. Be still and know God is here.”

I could not hear Christ because I could not release my guilt, but I could feel His messengers. I was single and pregnant and in college. I felt alone because I was afraid that my parents would stop loving me. I was afraid they would disown me. If my parents didn’t want me, how could God want me? I was unworthy of His love. God’s angels placed me in the protective sphere of His guardians. I was not alone. He had not abandoned me. I became still. God was there even though I didn’t feel Him.

I want to stop here and pause and go back to scripture. During the whole conversation Jesus has with Simon, the woman is weeping, anointing Christ’s feet and kissing them. And Christ does not say anything to her, does not acknowledge her presence. Yet He is there. But this is not the only time Christ was in the company of an ill-reputed woman and did not say anything to her directly.

In John 8:2-12, a woman is brought before Him by the scribes and Pharisees, caught in the act adultery. They are ready to stone her. For Adultry. He writes in the sand and says, “He who is without sin among you, let him throw a stone at her first.” He bent down again and wrote in the sand. The men left. And it was just Christ and this sinful person.

See, I am these women. I find myself in their stories. I am the woman in deep shame and guilt, crying at the feet of Jesus. I am the woman waiting to be stoned for my sin.

Yet what is Christ’s words to these women. Go in peace, sin no more. Your faith has saved you.

In that darkened chapel that night, I knew Christ was present. He calmed my spirit. While we don’t know the rest of the story for these women in the Bible, we know where I am. I am right here in this place and time.

God has given me peace. It is the same peace He offers you. What I learned in that darkened chapel that night is that Jesus is with me. Some believe He died on the cross in place of us, or to carry our sins away. But I believe it is more than this. In that darkened chapel I learned that Jesus was with me. He died so he could be with us. He is with us when we are committing our sins. He is with us when shame and guilt consume us. He is with us when we confess and seed repentance. He is with us when we celebrate our arrival out of darkness. He is with us when we are singing and dancing and praising His name. He is with us in our joy.

Right now the Holy Spirit may be calling to you to committ your life to Him, or maybe you’re being called to renew your committment. For some of you, this is a time to be with Jesus, and for others this is a time to dance and celebrate. Regardless of where you are in your walk, Be still and know God is with you.

Amen.

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It will be my 45th birthday on Friday. I am looking forward to this one. I know many women stop counting their age at 28 or 30, but not me. I relish the fact that I am getting older. I am wiser than I was when I was 28. At 28 I was still trying to figure out what it meant to be an adult, a wife and a mother. At 45 I understand those things. I appreciate them. When I was a little girl my mother use to tell me my birth story. But before she got to me, she would tell me the birth story of my 3 older siblings, then me, and then my youngest sister.

I don’t think she told these stories to my siblings. The stories were told when I was suppose to be laying down for a nap, and she would climb into the bed with me. I would ask for her to recount the stories to me. Her voice created a blanket of warmth and love. Every time she recounted our births, I knew we were wanted and loved, regardless of whatever else was going on in the house. Our household was not always full of warm fuzzy memories. There were fights, physical and verbal. There was anger. And while I remember those violent acts, I also remember the loving ones. It is those memories I cling to and go to when I want to reassure myself of my place in this world. I remember my birth story.

My mother went into labor, and the hospital was in the next town over in Geneseo. My father, a very calm and collected man in every situation, flew down the road with my mother in the seat next to him. Now between Cambridge and Geneseo, there are a lot of hills, and my mother would float out of the seat while my dad was praying for a police car to catch him speeding. Once at the hospital, my mother went right into the delivery room, in her clothes, and there I was. The doctor barely arrived in time for my birth. My mother told me I wanted to be born into the world right NOW!! I was a happy baby and my Grandma DeKezel swore I smiled at her when she saw me for the first time through the glass partition. My mother would tell me how I always woke up happy, even in wet diapers.

Most importantly, I was told I was wanted, and I was loved. In fact I was told each of us was wanted and loved. What a great gift my mother gave me. It is probably those nap time stories that allowed me to forgive her. I saw my mother’s rage. I felt her abandonment when I became pregnant and wasn’t married. But in the bottom of my heart remained the fact that I was her daughter. I was wanted. I was loved.

Those stories … those close times of intimacy, gave me the ability to see past her faults. I was able to cling to my nap time as a child and make it out of the quagmire of anger and hate. So I ask myself, what am I doing to create the same intimacy for my children? Have I created a space in their heart to forgive me for my mistakes as a parent? Have I learned from my mother and told those birth stories to my children?

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cacophonous words trip upon each other in my mind. I am lost in my own body

So I slide into this dark box of mine, hidden deep inside.

Just to rest. Just for a quiet moment of silence.

It’s quiet in here. Deep down in the dark. It’s not so bad. I can release myself to this quiet and be still. Nothing enters or leaves. It’s been a long time since I entered this place. This deep, dark, quiet place.

But it is never truly quiet. My thoughts, like dust floating in sun beams, drift down making light, fluffy, muffled, jangling noises. And the ruminations settle around me.

These musings of mine ease their way next to me. Some of these thoughts want to pull me into a darker place. A place where leaving the box becomes difficult. A place where I bury me beyond existence.

I push the clamour aside and wait for the other reflections to settle on top of the debris. And they shift to the top. Reminding me that staying in the box is not as safe as facing the crashing tsunami waves of my life.

My box shimmers and white light drifts all around me like falling snow. Each light flake touches my skin, bringing delight. Memories of joy in existing pull me up to the top.

I decide it is time to leave my quiet dark box. As I come forward, the waves of life crash down upon me, and I am driven down.

But I am not alone.

I never was.

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burnt orange, bright yellow, vanishing green, dirt brown roll one after another chasing each other the s t a c a t o sound turning my mind around chasing after those colorsthat fade into the black and white of crisp cold air

His Call Familiarity
He called me
And I didn’t hear. A sense of being

He called me
And I heard. Inherent

He calls me
And I listen. To the point

He calls me
And I write. Home

Just some sayingsThere is no spiritual conflict – when conflict arises it is people conflict – people drama.Relish in the grace and gifts children have; they were once our own.Children clean and edify the church. Through them comes our growth.Communication is more than what comes from my mouth. More importantly it comes from my heart.

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There he is; the little old man, his reflective vest, and his silver walker. He’s usually on the sidewalk when I am getting ready to turn to go into my school. He’s moving at a good clip for someone who is using a walker. I notice his legs are strong and muscular. Every morning on my drive to work, I look for this little old man. When I see him I find myself thinking, “Way to go. You keep truckin’.” And inevitably I think, “I want to be him when I am that old.” I want to be moving at whatever pace my body will allow me to move.

I realize that as I age, my body changes. I have aches and pains I didn’t have when I was younger. I find I am tired more often. I want to be in bed early and up early, and I want my 8 hours of sleep. I have recently found that when I injure myself, I don’t know how I sustained the injury. I wake up, and I have pulled a muscle in my arm. How does this happen? I want to know what I did in order to feel the pain I feel. It’s just not right. It’s not fair. Why did God make my body this way? I did not appreciate the strength and health I had when I was younger, and now that I am older, I want that young body back. I know what I want to do with that young body.

This is the whole thing with life. You get older … you change. What you do with the change is up to you. I have a choice about how I am going to live out the second half of my life. I can give into the pain, the , the change and bemoan the fact that I am getting older. Or I can embrace it and use my life experience to become all I am meant to become. I want to “keep truckin'” like my little old man. He has inspired me. I don’t know him. But he has influenced me to keep moving my body when all I want to do is hit the alarm clock and snooze an hour more. Because I am sure that when I am his age, I will be thankful that my body is still moving, that my mind is functioning.

What I find even more fascinating is that he is affecting my life and we have never met. How often do I do that for others? Am I influencing others I don’t even know? What is it I am doing right now with my life that leaves a positive impact on other people? Every day I make contact with people I don’t know. That’s a hefty thought. What I do says more about who I am as a person than anything I can say. I want people to see me as a loving, caring person. I want people to see me as someone who will stand up and fight for what is right. I want people to see my actions as a child of God. Is that what I show?

Often I think I fall far short of those expectations. I make mistakes. I stay silent when I should speak about a wrong. I talk gossip when I should keep my mouth shut. It’s not that I am all bad, but what I do can impact someone else. I want to be a positive impact. I want to create a positive ripple in people’s lives.

I want to be the old man in the bright orange reflector, walking in the early morning with my silver walker. I want to influence people in ways I don’t even know I am influencing them. I just want to”‘Keep on Truckin'”